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The Department of Homeland Security and my Uncle Jerry

Everyone has a favorite holiday tradition. For me, it’s my Uncle Jerry’s Annual Christmas Party. For as long as I can remember, he has been throwing elaborate parties: from elegant black tie soirees to blue jeans and football jersey hoe-downs, you never know what it’s going to be. Last year he told us to dress as artists and paint the ceiling tiles in his garage a lá Michelangelo.

Trees, food, even the music vary with each theme. One year the tree looks right out of a Macy’s window; the next we’re gathered around a dry stick with a knotted ball of tinsel on top. Sometimes it’s chicken wings and country western, other times caviar and chamber music. Whatever the theme, one feature has always remained constant: pyrotechnics.

Most people associate fireworks with the Fourth of July or New Years Eve, but not my Uncle Jerry. Ever since I was a kid, he has celebrated his holidays with a bang. There are probably good reasons why no one else does this. In fact, I thought I had him pretty well convinced this was a bad idea way back when I was in high school…

With the party fast approaching, my friend Richard and I planned to spice things up with our own addition to the annual fireworks display. We had saved over 200 firecrackers from the previous summer’s Fourth of July in a steel lockbox and stored it in Richard’s basement. A few days before the party, I asked him to get them out so we could test a few. We went into his basement and Richard pulled the lockbox down out of a closet but couldn’t remember where he had put the key. I told him: “No problem, just jimmy the lock.”

Looking up from the old exercise bike I was fiddling with, I saw Richard sitting on a piano bench with the lockbox in his lap. Too late and to my horror, I realized he was holding a nail against one of the hinge pins and swinging a hammer. The instant I yelled “NO!” he hit it. The explosion blew me across the room and half way up the staircase. Figuring Richard was surely badly injured, I crawled up the steps to call for an ambulance. But as I was trying to describe what had happened, Richard staggered by, smoke trailing from his hair, saying he was “fine”, so I hung up.

The house was filling up with smoke so we decided we’d better get out of there. Coughing our way out the front door, we were greeted by what seemed like every person we knew in town, standing there with mouths agape. I hadn’t needed to make any calls because the police, fire department, and several ambulances were already en route. As the ambulance drove off, I peered out the window, to see that we had blown out every single window in the house and smoke was now wafting up through the roof shingles.

Needless to say, Richard’s parents did not wish me a Merry Christmas. Ultimately, they forgave us and now they like to tell my kids stories of their stupid father and his buddy, their dim-witted son. We were still allowed to attend Uncle Jerry’s party, but the days of amateur shows were over for good. From now on it would be professionals only; surely that would resolve all safety issues. Silly Uncle Jerry.

Cut to scene #2: an unseasonably warm December night, gathered again on my Uncle’s patio overlooking Pompton Lake awaiting the start of the show. Things seemed to be going well until we noticed the contractor sprinting toward the lake. The second he hit the water, the ground shook and an enormous orange flame erupted into the air, sending showers of sparks streaking everywhere. It was reminiscent of the final scene in the movie “Apocalypse Now”: the BOOM thumped us in the chest and knocked us back several steps as the whole inventory went up at once. Several minutes later, the cold and wet contractor dragged himself out of the lake, somehow no worse for wear—that is, until I asked him if he could do it one more time so I could get it on tape. His reply was most uncharitable, hardly in keeping with the holiday spirit.

Yet Uncle Jerry is dauntless. He achieved the pinnacle of Christmas fireworks excellence on a very cold and snowy night in December, 2001. Given what had transpired that fall, the theme of this party was patriotism and everyone dressed in red white and blue. Uncle Jerry himself dressed up as Uncle Sam. We enjoyed hot dogs and apple pie and then (after having hired a different professional and secured all the necessary permits) my Uncle Jerry put on one of the most impressive firework displays ever seen in Northern New Jersey. It was truly amazing to be standing there watching fireworks in the heavy snow. What was even more amazing was how many patrol cars, fire trucks, military vehicles, ambulances and news crews descended upon us in the next ten minutes.

It seems Uncle Jerry had not taken into account how jangled the townspeople’s nerves were so close to September 11th and someone had hit the panic button. After much reassuring, explaining, and showing of permits, the alarm was cancelled, the Navy Seals put on stand down, and whatever NORAD fighter bombers they had circling overhead were ordered back to their hangers. We all went inside and sang Christmas Carols with more gusto than ever before.
Now you would think a visit from the Army would have finally dissuaded my Uncle from ringing in the holidays “with a bang”. No way. He hasn’t missed a year since and I am looking forward to it with great anticipation again this year.
As the holiday season approaches, I extend my sincerest wishes that all of you enjoy the warmth, security, and love of your own family traditions. Thank you for your business; it has been my pleasure to serve you this year. Happy Holidays,

Frank C. Kilcoyne, CSSC